Eragon Rewrite
by T.B. Stormshot
Summary: In an attempt to save her own sanity, T.B. rewrites Eragon in order to fit with her exacting standards. Unfortunately she's just plain strange, so the story is bound to be the same.
1. Prologue

A Note: This is basically a rewrite of Paolini's book, but not strictly such. Sometimes I'll be serious and sometimes I won't depending on the scenario and what I see. The real point of this exercise is to make you, the audience, actually care about the characters. When I read Eragon I sure as hell didn't give a shit when Brom or Durza died. And I sort of wish Eragon, Arya, and Saphira would have gone with them. I don't like _Eragon. _I think it's a stupid book. I think I can do better.

So let's just see if I can.

_ -T.B. Stormshot, Loki, Scratch Troy_

Prologue: Shade of Fear

Wind howled through the night, carrying a scent which would change the world. A tall figure lifted his head and sniffed the sudden breeze. Gagging, he covered his mouth with one hand while waving to the dozen or so monstrous figures accompanying him.

"S-spread out," he squawked, holding his nose. His normally pale features turned purple as he tried to hold his breath. The giant creatures did not move. Instead, their great, black brows knitted together as they stared at their companion in confusion. "Hell, just hide behind something! Trees, bushes, take your pick. Just get away from me," the figure snapped as the wind blew stronger, increasing the stench around him. Urgals were not the smartest of creatures. Or the cleanest.

The Urgals began to shuffle off with no particular care for any stealth. The leader winced at each metallic ring as their round shields clanged against their short swords. He ran a hand through his red hair and wondered how he could have allowed himself to be talked into taking the creatures on such an important mission. Suddenly reminded, he drew himself to his full height and stammered, "Yes! Stop whoever is coming... or _die!"_

The Urgals paused to turn and stare at him. The man blinked, realizing that this new command had completely confused them. He sighed. "Okay, okay, look, _hide _first, and then when somebody comes by we're going to jump out and tackle them. Alright?" he said with forced patience. The Urgals gave low grunts to each other as they slowly filtered this information through and then finally turned to find themselves hiding places.

The man muttered to himself about certain muscles not being exercised enough as he turned to find a hiding place of his own. As he settled behind a thick tree, he wondered if his information was right. Would they be here? And if so, would his troop be enough to stop them? Growing more nervous by the second, he drew his sword. It was a long, pale thing, with a wire-thin scratch curving down the blade. The scratch annoyed the piss out of him, but he hadn't been allowed to fix it. Something about 'interesting details' he had been told. It was a good sword though, slim enough to fit between a pair of ribs or find the narrow openings in an opponent's armor. He didn't fool himself into thinking that was enough.

Peeking behind the tree, he stared down the curving road. The moonlight was dim, but his eyesight was good and he was relieved to see nothing. Nothing yet anyway. His gaze turned to the trees and bushes surrounding the road and he was dismayed to find snatches of bowed legs and thick, brutish arms and those twisted horns that made Urgals slightly different from the rest of the orc race. He knew their eyesight wasn't as keen as his, but certainly they weren't _that _blind. And was it any excuse for the din they were creating? With a nervous glance at the road, the man leaped out and began to push the Urgals into better positions.

"Now stay there," he shouted angrily as he squeezed two Urgals behind a shrub made of poison ivy. "And for heaven's sake, don't move around!"

As if to spite him, a clumsy Urgal snapped a twig with his heavy boots and the man struggled not to turn around and throttle him. He _needed _the Urgals, he reminded himself. One might be all that stood between him and getting stuck by something nasty. A spear maybe. Or another sword.

In any case, soon everything was silent, and the man again settled behind his tree. Wide, violet eyes peered down the road, and the man found that this new silence only worsened his fear. The screech of an owl gave him a fearful jolt and he only relaxed when it was gone.

It got colder as the night progressed, and the man found himself wishing fervently that his enemies could have picked a summer night to do their dirty work. What was it that made people pick the coldest nights of the year to attempt anything? And why was it that it always seemed to fall on his shoulders to wait outside in that cold to stop them? The man sighed. And the worst part, he told himself, was that any shuffling about to keep warm could possibly get him killed.

Time moved slowly, but a gust of air down the road ruffled the man's hair and warned him to keep ready. There was no mistaking the sudden scent of violets. Unless the Urgals had suddenly taken to wearing perfume, his enemies' arrival was imminent.

"Get ready," he whispered to himself, his whole body suddenly one big basket of nerves. His stomach fluttered with a thousand butterflies and he found himself steadying his sword-arm to keep it from shaking. Fighting always unnerved him, but it had taken many plots and all of his cunning to bring himself to this moment. He couldn't screw up now, there was no way he was going to go through all that crap again.

Up ahead, he heard the sudden crunching of faraway hooves upon the gravel. Squinting, the man made out smudges in the darkness, growing larger and clearer with every step.

As the figures became clear, the man breathed a silent sigh of relief. Only three? He had been afraid there would be more. But still, he reminded himself, one could never underestimate elves.

All on large, white horses with their coats gleaming with care, the elves had the same look that all elves had. Beautiful and arrogant. Strong but slim. Pointy-eared of course. The two elves flanking the third gave frequent glances out into the forest, their hands tight around their weapons. The man grinned as he laid his eyes upon the one in the middle, obviously their leader.

With long, black locks he was as eagle-eyed as his companions, and as ready to fight it seemed, as the man let his eyes settle on the elf's sword. A quiver of arrows was at his back, but they wouldn't be of much use in close combat. His eyes suddenly narrowed as he caught a glimpse of the pouch in the elf's lap. So there it was, he thought. A grin carved its way across his face. It would be so much easier knowing where it was; he had been afraid of some elf trick hiding it away. Ambushing the elves would be easier now without needing to capture them alive, and perhaps he could still avoid that inevitable fight if the Urgals could just-

A sudden roar alerted both him and the elves. The man's eyes darted to the Urgals' hiding places as they began to dash through the bushes. The elves' horses reared in fear, and the man cursed as he darted out from behind the tree. "Damn you!" he shrieked at the Urgals, "You were supposed to wait for my order!"

Already the elves were bringing their horses under control and beginning to gallop with all their speed. But there was confusion the man saw, and the guards had wheeled around the other way as the leader galloped forward. The man grimaced and raised a hand, he had hoped to avoid using magic.

"Godzilla!" he shouted.

He was not very practiced at it.

With a curse at the word's ineffectiveness, the red-haired man rolled up his sleeves to glance at the words scrawled on his pale skin. He mouthed the words quickly, ever-present of the elves' escape and then carefully said "Garjzla!"

A red bolt of energy flashed from his raised palm and shot towards the elven leader, whom had managed to dodge several Urgals in his path and was now racing down the road. With a grimace, the man watched as it struck the elf's horse. The noble steed toppled with a high-pitched squeal and the ground became stained with its blood. The man shuddered in distaste, wishing now that his eyesight was less keen. But he was quick to note the leader's dismount and his reach for that hated sword. It was only then that the elf noticed his guards were missing.

The two elven men had already discovered their mistake and were trying to fight their way back through the Urgals. Several fell before the elves' superior tactics, but even the Urgals knew when to back up and try something new. Soon deadly black arrows streamed from the woods around them, and despite their valor, the elves fell.

The leader shrieked in horror, and the red-haired man took a step back at the violence of his wordless cry. The last elf's eyes were brilliant with rage, and he went for his sword immediately. The man tensed himself for a fight, but evidently the elf had second thoughts. A curse rolled from his lips before he flung himself into the forest.

Glancing back at the Urgals who had begun circling upon the guard's bodies, the man emitted a curse of his own. "You idiots! I don't want them! _I want him!" _The frenetic energy of the battle must have powered their minds, because for once they didn't pause to stare at him in confusion.

As the Urgals crashed through the trees, the red-haired man climbed a piece of granite that jutted over them. From here he could see the entire forest. Rolling up his sleeves again, he studied the words he had written. "O with two little dots above it is pronounced as smudge smudge smudge..." he muttered in irritation. After a brief moment of study, he gave up and raised his arms. "Boutique install-ray!" he shouted. When nothing happened, he tried a different pronunciation. And then another one.

On his fifth try, a quarter-mile section of forest exploded into flames. Grimly, he took out his pen and wrote down the correct pronunciation on his arm, promising himself to write it down somewhere safer when he got home. He then proceeded to burn one section after another until he had created a ring of fire almost a league across. The man grinned despite the sweltering heat, there was no way the elf could escape this. With intense concentration, he began to contract the ring of flames around himself, driving the elf back to the road.

A guttural cry surprised the man and his concentration faltered. By now though, the fire could feed itself and no longer needed his guidance. He turned to glance down at the foot of the rock and found the elf stabbing three of his Urgals one after the other, with barely a hand raised from any of them. The man felt torn between his fear of blood and his annoyance at the Urgals' stupidity, he would need to have a serious talk with whoever trained the brutes. But for now-

The elf leader fled to the base of the stone and the red-haired man atop it watched him closely. Timing his jump carefully, he leapt the twenty feet to the bottom, determined to tackle the elf. At the last moment however, the elf heard his descent, and jumped to one side with the agility all his kind possessed. The man hit the ground hard, dropping to his knees before rolling back up. He barely managed to meet the elf's sword with his own, the fierce metallic clash of it causing bile to roll up into his throat. The two swords struggled against each other before breaking their contact. The elf leaped back just as the red-haired man did, both breathing hard.

The elf whipped his head to the forest around him, looking for an escape, but finally it seemed that the Urgals were of some use as they broke free of the tangled bushes and hemmed him in against the rock. The man grinned at them in relief; he had not been looking forward to a fight.

As the Urgals surrounded them, the man turned to the cornered elf. "You didn't really think you were going to get away with it? Did you?" he sneered.

"So you're the Shade everyone is talking about," the elf said in a lilting voice, his hand tightening around the bag under his arm. "Scrawnier then I would have expected."

"I'm on a diet," the Shade answered in amusement. "Elf-only, but they're hard to come by these days."

"I'd expect so if that's the best you have to offer," the elf chuckled, gesturing towards the Shade's sword with his own.

The Shade did not find this quite as amusing. He pierced his lips as his hand tightened over his sword hilt. "Even so, I expect your companions should keep me sated for a week or two." The elf froze, his eyes widening as the Shade turned to his Urgal soldiers. "What are you waiting for? Get him!"

The Urgals surged forward, but with a new glow in his eyes, the elf did not flinch. Instead he reached into the pouch and brought out its precious contents. The Shade's eyes widened at the sight of the large, sapphire-colored stone and widened even further as the elf raised it over his head.

"No!" He shouted as the elf began to speak frantic words of power with a much better accent then he. Desperate, the Shade shot out his hand and barked, "Gorgonzola!" Nothing happened

A flash of emerald light briefly illuminated the forest and the stone vanished. Triumphantly, the elf looked down at them. "Now what will you do, Shade?" he laughed.

An inhuman hiss of anger startled the elf, who looked at the Shade more nervously. "I really wish you hadn't done that," the Shade told him, his voice echoing as if it came from somewhere far away. The elf took a step back as the Shade seemed to grow into something taller and more malevolent then before. The Urgals were frightened too, and they began to run into the forest, taking their chances against the flames.

The Shade howled as the darkness overtook him and energy that needed no words shot from his palm, destroying the Urgals in mid-step. The sword in his hand became a fearsome thing of dark energy and that he threw against a tree, which immediately exploded into black flames. He stalked towards the elf, his face contorting into something demonic.

"You!" he screeched, and a wave of black energy rushed towards the elf without prompt. The elf turned to run, but it was by far too late as the energy overtook him. With a cry, the elf fell and smoldered upon the ground.

With nobody else to kill, the Shade raged and stalked the ground. Promises of revenge in a wretched tongue even he could not understand rolled from his tongue. The ground blurred and dropped away only to come rushing back up again with painful clarity. Around him red flames licked from all the trees save one, heat and smoke billowing about until it felt like his skin was on fire. The stars shone bright as eyes, staring at him always. He screamed at them. How dare they mock him from way up there! They were cowards. They feared him! If not come down and prove yourselves. But no! Because they were afraid! And even their king, that grand fat bastard that ruled them all ran when he saw the Shade's face. Look at him! Running even now! _You stupid bloody bastard! _Come fight me damn you! Come fight me! And as the night wore on the trees burnt and the Shade howled his fury and the stars watched without passion. Screams and shrieks and threats and cat calls ran together until they were all the same. The moon soon went and the Shade was long left howling after it to come and face him. Finally, with one last scream, the Shade collapsed to the ground in exhaustion.

The Shade seemed to shrink as his anger cooled, and he tried to remember what had happened. He didn't like it when his darker side overwhelmed him, things happened that he often regretted later. He sighed and began to pick himself off the ground. Knowing that nobody had survived, he just hoped that there hadn't been too much blood.

Wrenching his sword from the tree, he noted that the tree's black flames did not stop burning once the weapon had been removed. He thought about trying to cool the flames with magic, but knew that there was no word on his arm for this situation. He turned to go, but paused as he heard a low groan.

Eyes widening, the Shade's gaze fell upon the elf. Was it possible? As far as he knew, nobody had ever survived one of his temper tantrums. But the elf then shifted, filling him with a sense of wonder... and opportunity. With a widening grin, the Shade wondered if some of this night might not still be salvaged. After all, the elf would have to know where he had sent the egg, and the Shade knew a thousand ways of making people talk. All without spilling their blood of course.

He chuckled as he began to gather the elf into his arms, and stopped as he realized something wrong with it. Feeling the elf's body carefully, he came upon a shocking discovery. "You're a girl!" he shouted in surprise. He shook his head in exasperation. How was he supposed to know? All these goddamned elves looked so much alike...


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Discovery

Eragon knelt in a bed of trampled grass and scanned the tracks with a practiced eye. They were fresh, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Sitting back on his heels, he pushed back his mat of brown hair and wiped his forehead. He cursed his uncle.

It wasn't as if they had needed the meat. His uncle's farm had never been prosperous, but it grew enough to meet their needs and a little extra to barter for what they could not grow. And if they were that desperate there were the chickens to eat, though the eggs they laid were far more valuable.

Eragon wasn't on bad terms with Uncle Garrow. The old man could be gruff and impatient at times, but he treated Roran, Eragon's cousin, just the same.

And it wasn't as if Uncle Garrow was crazy, Eragon mused. At least he had never acted that way before. Uncle Garrow had always struck Eragon as being extremely cunning in his business. Whenever they had gone to market, it was Uncle Garrow that drove the bargain for the meager vegetables they had to offer, and he never came away with less than what he'd earned.

But here he was in the Spine. Uncle Garrow had practically shoved him out the door with nothing but his bow and hunting knife. Eragon had needed to shout through the door to convince the man he at least needed food and provisions. The satchel had been thrown out the window for him. He had been told not to come back without any food. When he had complained about hunting in the Spine, Garrow had only replied through the locked door, "And here I heard you were the bravest hunter in the village. Act like it for your poor, starving uncle at least."

Briefly Eragon had toyed with the idea of bringing down a couple squirrels in the backyard and calling it food, but that seemed ripe for a beating, so off into the Spine he had gone.

Uncle Garrow hadn't been lying when he said Eragon was the bravest hunter in the village. It was by forfeit really, he was the only hunter who dared enter the Spine at all. But it didn't mean he treated the craggy mountain range with anything other than deep respect. He only hunted there by day, and he never traveled much deeper than the base of the mountains. He had heard the stories just as often as everyone else in Carvahall. Stories that chilled your very bones, of faerie light that enchanted hunters and lead them off the tallest cliffs, of witches that cast curses, and monstrous creatures that ate men.

This was Eragon's third day hunting, and the deer had led him deeper into the mountains than he had ever been. Eragon counted himself lucky that he had gone unnoticed so far. Even if the tales were false, the animals in these parts were not afraid of men, and could easily consider Eragon a meal.

With a sigh, Eragon climbed to his feet and looked up at the moon. It was full tonight and lit the forest, casting crisp, black shadows behind the many trees. Despite its light, Eragon knew he should be bedding down and waiting until morning before pursuing the deer. But he wanted to go home and put this madness behind him. His food was nearly gone and the nights were getting colder. If he waited another day, he would be waking up with frost dripping from his face. Thus with a fearful heart, Eragon donned his pack again and followed the deer trail.

Eragon silently crept into the glen, keeping the bitter wind in his face. The moonlight revealed a dozen motionless lumps huddling close together in the grass. The sun would have revealed their red-brown hides, but in the night they were just as grey and black as everything else. Eragon licked his chapped lips as he strung his bow and drew an arrow from his quiver. Creeping closer, he looked the deer herd over. A buck, distinguishable only by its size and huge antler rack lay near the edge. It would be a great prize, enough to tide them over for the winter, but Eragon doubted his ability to carry it back. Instead Eragon nocked his arrow and pointed it towards one of the smaller does in the middle. Taking one last breath, Eragon brought the arrow up to his cheek and squinted.

An explosion shattered the night.

Eragon fell to the ground as brilliant light blinded him and a horrid noise filled his ears. His arrow went wild and shot up into the sky. The herd bolted in all directions, trumpeting in fear. Stunned, he laid there, the echoes of the explosion resounding in his ears and up through the mountain range. He stared up into the night sky. The stars winked at him and he wondered if they might be laughing at his failure. Then he shook his head free of fancies and sat up.

Cursing, he stared forlornly at the deer's resting place. The deer were long gone and his arrow hadn't even scratched them. But what was that explosion? Squinting, he stared up at a high hill and saw dark smoke rising off it. The pine trees there stood naked in the stark moonlight.

Piercing his lips, Eragon knew the night was botched and he should be waiting for morning to try and pick up the deer trail again. He certainly shouldn't be climbing up the hill towards whatever was up there, most likely something dangerous. But yet it drew him, and he found that even great tangles of thorns were not enough to warn him off. When he arrived at the top, he was scratched and panting heavily, and not quite sure of what had come over him. Even then he thought of turning back, but it seemed like such a shame to go through all that trouble and not even see what was there.

So he went forward reluctantly, but the steps came easily, almost eagerly, and again he wondered why he was so excited. Why wasn't he more afraid? But this question went unanswered as Eragon passed the stripped evergreens and entered a small clearing. The grass was gone, burnt away, and here and there small flickers of flame died. Eragon's eyes watered from the acrid-smelling smoke which fill the air, but he wiped his tears away and peered closely. Laying in a freshly-dug hollow was a stone.

Eragon's eyes widened and he took one step forward before catching himself. There might still be danger. But the stone looked so harmless from where he stood. Even in moonlight he could tell it was blue, the purest blue he had ever seen. His thoughts warred with him for several long moments as he stood there, confused and uncertain. Finally, reasoning that if something bad was going to happen it would have done so already, Eragon started forward again.

He halted above the stone and frowned. This wasn't right. If he were the least bit cautious he should be running back to Carvahall and his uncle's farm right now, and Eragon was nothing if not cautious. The stone was surely magic to be enchanting him so. But he couldn't concentrate his thoughts upon the matter. The stone captured too much of his attention.

Still apprehensive, Eragon drew his hunting knife and tapped the stone with his boot. He backed away quickly. When nothing happened, he drew closer and kneeled before it.

Nature had never polished a stone as smooth as this one. This close, Eragon could see that it was not a pure blue as he had first thought, but was veined in white. Before he could stop himself, he reached down to stroke it and he felt the hairs on his neck stand up. The stone was cool to the touch and slicker than ice. He found himself picking it up and cradling it between his arms. It was large, as long as Eragon's forearm, and heavy, though perhaps not as heavy as it should have been.

"Beautiful," Eragon said softly. _And dangerous,_ came another thought, but it was too small a voice to be bothered about. Instead other, stronger thoughts replaced it. He wondered about where it had come from. And what its purpose was, for certainly such a stone had a purpose. And if it had a purpose, it couldn't have been sent here by accident. _I'm meant to have it, _and this thought outweighed all the others. It was a feeling so strong, that Eragon was suddenly suspicious. "It's just a stone," he said carefully, his voice sounding false in his ears. "I don't even have room for it."

Eragon willed himself to drop the stone and turn away, but a flicker of indecision stayed his hand. _It looks valuable. It could pay for some food. It'll be too long tracking those deer again. Winter is coming and I need to get back. _The sudden rush of thoughts had him grimacing, he knew he should leave it, but he desperately wanted to go home. So with a sigh that was more of defeat than of relief, he tucked the stone into his pack.

Feeling suddenly exposed on the high hill, Eragon bent his head and climbed back down. He began to look for a place to make camp.


End file.
